It finally reached a point where I was
forced to grit my teeth to keep from breaking out into curses; I
could lie still no longer, exhausted as I was, and Harry, too. I
turned on him:
"Come on, Hal; let's move."
"Where?" he asked in a tone devoid of hope.
"Anywhere--away from this beastly water. We must dry out our
clothing; no use dying like drowned rats. If I only had a match!"
We rose to our hands and knees and crawled painfully up the
slippery incline. Soon we had reached dry ground and stood
upright; then, struck by a sudden thought, I turned to Harry:
"Didn't you drink any of that water?"
He answered: "No."
"Well, let's try it. It may be our last drink, Hal; make it a
good one."
We crept back down to the edge of the lake (I call it that in my
ignorance of its real nature), and, settling myself as firmly as
possible, I held Harry's hand while he lowered himself carefully
into the water. He was unable to reach its surface with his mouth
without letting go of my hand, and I shook off my poncho and used
it as a line.
"How does it taste?" I asked.
"Fine!" was the response. "It must be clear as a bell. Lord.
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